


Black Flies

by HalfwayToHell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Assault, Child Abuse, M/M, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 08:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13095912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfwayToHell/pseuds/HalfwayToHell
Summary: Sam had never been afraid of John--not really--but after he catches Sam and Dean in a compromising situation one night, he quickly learns that John intends to punish him--in the most horrid way imaginable.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *** This work has explicit violence and rape towards a minor. Reader discretion is advised. ***

* * *

 

Sam hadn’t meant for them to get caught.

 

Since he and Dean had first started their nights of sinful pleasures, they had always been careful--sometimes too careful. They had always made sure that John wouldn’t be home for a few hours and when it was one of the days that both of them were too riled up to wait for John to be gone hunting, the boys had made sure that they could hear the low rumble of the Impala down the road from their various hotel rooms. Dean had always been meticulous in where he had left his teeth marks and purple flowers against Sam’s skin and the youngest had been sure that his nails only dug into his brother’s thighs and the middle of his back.

 

But Sam had always known that deep down--one day--John would find out, but Sam had never expected John to lash out the way that he had. The way that their father had looked at them as Sam quickly scrambled off of his brother’s lap, grabbing the sheets to cover his naked body and he had felt the sick settle into his stomach, his heart pounding so hard in his chest, that he swore he would die right then--if John wouldn’t kill him first, that is. At the time, Dean had shifted his body closer to Sam’s in order to protect him from the danger that John possessed and even though John hadn’t done anything then--Sam didn’t feel safe.

 

All week he had felt he couldn’t be in John’s presence without feeling a wave of nausea crash over him and each night when he could hear the Impala rolling into the hotel parking lot, Sam’s heart would flutter like a canary trapped in a cage. He would always hold his breath until John laid down in the other bed across from his own and even after the older man’s breath would grow shallow and succumb to sleep, Sam couldn’t bring himself to be lured in--not with the impending doom looming over him.

 

And that was the same feeling that had come over the younger Winchester as he sat at the small table in the hotel room, his school books laid out with their pages exposed. Sam’s eyes slowly lifted from the pages of his book when he heard the low rumble of the Impala pulling into the hotel parking lot. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, his heart beating rapidly in anticipation at the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the door. John’s body swayed as he walked into the hotel room, slamming the door hard enough to cause Sam to jump.

 

Drunkenly, John stumbled towards his bed, plopping himself down on the edge. Sam watches him nervously out of the corner of his eye, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and at first, he thinks that John isn’t going to say anything--like he had been since he caught them--but the notion is short lived.

 

“Where’s your brother?” John grunts and he leans over, untying his boots.

 

Sam swallowed thickly before he replied softly, “At the store. He said he would be back soon.”

 

His father didn’t respond right away, instead giving him a grunt of acknowledgment and once again, Sam assumes John isn’t going to say anything else until he does.

 

“Do me a favor, Sam,” John says as he digs into his pocket, pulling out a five dollar bill. “Go to the vending machine and get me a soda, will you? You can by yourself one too.”

 

Carefully, Sam took the money from his father, pocketing it. “Okay,” He said softly before turning to leave.

 

He hadn’t made it far before he felt a heavy hand on his back, shoving him forward. Sam slammed into the table, toppling over it, landing hard on the ground. Pain shot through his side where it had slammed into the edge of the table and he hissed, placing his hands on his side. The youngest Winchester rolled onto his other side to look up at his father and fear grips hold of him, eyes wide. Sam had never been afraid of John--not really--but staring up at him as he loomed over him, a nasty growl plastered on his father’s lips, Sam was _terrified_.

 

“Dad--”

 

The words had barely made it past Sam’s lips before his father was on him again. His hand lashed out, grabbing hold of the boy’s hair and the hold he had on Sam’s chestnut hair caused tears to come to the corners of his eyes as John hauled him up by his hair. A cry came from the younger Winchester as his nails dug into his father’s hands that hurt him.

 

“Dad,” Sam choked out, digging his nails hard into the flesh of his father’s hand. “Stop. You’re hurting me--”

 

Pain bloomed across his face when the flat part of John’s other hand hit the side of Sam’s cheek and the pain of it caused him to cry out. Sam thrashed in John’s hold on his hair, trying to get away from the older man, but he was much stronger than Sam’s teenage body. John didn’t hit Sam once in the face, but two, three, four, five, six times, each smack harder than the last. With each smack to the side of his face, Sam could taste copper in his mouth from where his gums had started to bleed from the impact and from biting his tongue.

 

The blows to his face stopped as soon as they had come and even John’s grip on Sam’s hair had released, only for John’s hands to clamp painfully around Sam’s small biceps, forcing the younger Winchester to look up at him. A whimper escaped from Sam’s throat, his face stinging and tears rolling down his cheeks as he looked up into the rage-filled gaze of his father’s eyes.

 

“I’ll do more than just hurt you, Samuel,” John hissed and the venom in his tone caused Sam to flinch away from him. “You don’t think what you and your brother did hurt me? So now what? You think you’re big enough to make the decision to fuck?” He seethed, the grip on Sam’s arms tightening until he gave a small cry of pain, the tears continuing to roll down his cheeks.

 

“I’m sorry!” Sam cried, trying to writhe his way out of his father’s grip, wanting nothing more than to get away from the older man. “I’m sorry, Dad. Let me go. You’re hurting me!”

 

“When I’m done with you, boy, you’ll know what sorry is!” John spat, the scent of alcohol heavy on his breath.

 

He shoved Sam away from him, the younger Winchester toppling backward onto the bed that he and Dean normally shared. The second his back hit the mattress, Sam tried to roll off of it to get away, but he wasn’t quick enough. John was on him in an instant, his body heavy against Sam’s as he pinned him down beneath him. He tried to pry Sam’s legs apart and the realization of what John had meant to do to him, caused Sam to scream at the top of his lungs.

 

“I’m sorry! It won’t happen again! Get off of me! Dean! Dean--”

 

Pain bloomed across Sam’s face again, this time, radiating from his nose. Blood trickled down the back of his throat, causing him to gag and cough, gasping for breath from the crushing weight of his father’s body on top of his and from the blood steadily trickling down the back of his throat. Sam could barely pull in a breath, before his father’s closed fist connected with his nose again, causing blood to gush from his nostrils. Sam put his arms up to block his face, which he quickly realized was a grave mistake as John only continued to hit him that much harder, landing fist after fist into his arms.

 

By the time John had stopped beating him, it was not just Sam’s arms that hurt, but his entire body radiated in excruciating pain. The younger Winchester sobbed, holding his horribly bruised arms against his chest, shielding his face with his hands from his father as he cried, the salt of his tears mixing in with the iron of his blood. It wasn’t until he felt his father ripping his jeans from his bruised legs, that Sam had tried to fight back against him, but his body hurt far too much for him to give much of a fight and when John had forced Sam onto his stomach, he had accepted what was going to happen then.

 

Pain like nothing Sam had ever experience ripped through his body as John forcefully pushed his cock into Sam’s entrance, his body immediately rejecting the intrusion and the sensitive flesh of his hole tore from it, blood trickling down slowly between Sam’s inner thighs. He screamed into the sheets, fingers gripping bone white onto the fabric. It felt as though someone had jammed a white-hot iron inside of him and Sam screamed himself hoarse. Each thrust was harder and more unforgiving than the last and the youngest Winchester sobbed, biting back the cries of pain that threatened to fall from his purple and red lips. 

 

Slowly, Sam’s eyes wandered to the window, where two black flies crawled against the windowpane. He watched them--watched their fat, ugly bodies move against the glass, fluttering their iridescent wings. Gradually, Sam’s body grew limp beneath John’s as he focused solely on the two insects in the window. It was not long--or perhaps, it was an eternity, Sam couldn’t have been sure--before he felt hot, thick liquid fill him. 

 

He didn’t dare move--nor did he think he could--after John clambered off of him. Sam could faintly hear John zip up his pants, but Sam couldn’t be sure, as his subconscious kept himself focused on the black flies that danced and chased each other across the glass. Only when he had felt the soft fabric of the hotel towel against his bare backside, did Sam even so much as take a deep breath.

 

“Get yourself cleaned up before your brother gets home,” John said, the coldness of his tone reaching Sam in his trance-like state and the fact that there had been no remorse for what his father had done to him, caused a piece inside of Sam to shatter. 

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam would never lie to Dean--not unless he felt it was absolutely necessary--and after being beaten and horribly raped by his own father, Sam doesn't ever want Dean to know because he couldn't live with the thought of what it would do to his big brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** This work has explicit violence and rape towards a minor. Reader discretion is advised. ***

* * *

 

_Breathe._

 

Sam’s chest heaved as air filled his lungs, the sound like sandpaper rubbing against the oxygen flowing in. His throat closed around the crisp air, causing him to cough and the motion of it caused Sam to clench his teeth against the pain that wracked through his whole body. Just breathing felt as though his entire soul was being ripped from his body and the _thought_ of actually trying to move any part of his body caused fresh tears to prick in his eyes.

 

But the youngest Winchester knew he had to move, to get away from John, to get cleaned up as his father had commanded of him because the idea of John punishing him again was something he couldn’t physically handle--or mentally, for that matter.

 

Slowly, Sam pushed himself up onto his knees. Pain rippled through his body so violently, that Sam almost buckled under the weight of it and a gasp fell pass his lips and the youngest Winchester quickly bit his bottom lip to keep from making another sound--no matter how much it hurt, he couldn’t let John know just the severity of what he had done.

 

Clinging to the hotel wall, Sam walked towards the bathroom--each step more painful than the last. He kept his head down and his shoulders hunched, making himself appear so small in hopes that John wouldn’t take any notice of him from where he sat on his own bed, smoking a cigarette. If John had his sight set on the boy, he didn’t make any notion that he did as Sam finally made it to the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

 

Sam stumbled over to the bathroom sink, clutching tightly onto the counter as he fully took in the damage of what his father had done to his face in the mirror. His lips were purple and red and his bottom lip was puffy from his teeth biting into it. The rest of his face had ballooned up from the trauma that had been inflicted upon it and dark half-moon bruises bloomed underneath Sam’s eyes--extending out from his nose. Carefully, Sam reached up and felt along the bridge of his nose, tears immediately prickling in his eyes from the faintest pressure he applied to it. The cartilage of his nose was still intact--surprisingly--so John hadn’t broken his nose, just caused enough damage to make his nose swell and bruise.

 

Sam dropped the towel his father had thrown on him onto the toilet lid before he removed his shirt--which he was finding to be quite difficult because of how bruised his arms were. Standing naked in the bathtub, Sam turned on the showerhead. Warm water pelted down onto the violent flowers on his skin and even just the sensation of water against the bruises caused more tears to prickle in his eyes.

 

Oh so carefully, Sam lowered himself into a seated position inside of the bathtub, pulling his knees up to his chest and he leaned his head against the tile wall, allowing the warm water to wash away the evidence of what John had done--but it would do nothing for the physical evidence, Sam knew. He wiped the dried blood from his nose and his face, careful of the swollen sensitive flesh. Preparing himself for the pain he knew was to come, Sam bit onto the knuckles of his hand as another traveled down between his legs to gingerly clean the dried blood and come from his thighs and ass. A pained whimper passed through his lips as his fingers brushed against his torn hole and Sam bit harder down onto his knuckle to stifle the sound.

 

When Sam had found the strength, he slowly rose from his spot from where he had been sitting to turn the water off. He carefully clambered out of the tub and he barely wrapped the towel around his waist before he heard knuckles rapping against the door.

 

“Sam?” Dean called through the wood, the sound of his brother’s voice making panic sweep through him. “You almost done in there, man? I gotta take a leak.”

 

“Just a second!” Sam called back, his tone edging on panic as he stumbled toward the sink, looking through the cabinets to find something to cover the bruises on his face.

 

A can of shaving cream and other toiletries clattered to the ground loudly and Sam cursed, rifling through the cabinets.

 

“Sam?” Dean asked, this time there was a tone of concern in his voice. “Are you okay? What the hell are you doing in there?”

 

“Give me a minute!” Sam continued to rifle through the cabinets even faster, desperately.

 

“Dammit, Sam. What the hell are you--”

 

The youngest Winchester spun around towards the door the second it was opened. His heart hammered hard in his chest as he looked up at his older brother, standing there in the doorway with his mouth slightly parted and his eyes wide.

 

“Dean--” Sam began but his brother was in front of him in a matter of seconds, kneeling on one knee in front of him.

 

“Holy shit, Sammy,” murmured Dean, reaching out to gingerly cup his little brother’s face in his hands. “What happened?”

 

Meeting his brother’s concerned pine gaze, any words that Sam had died on his tongue and instead, he just looked at Dean. He couldn’t find the words to tell him what had happened and perhaps he didn’t have to, because, after a few minutes of silence, the tears started to swell in Sam’s eyes again.

 

“Sammy,” Dean began, his voice soft but there was a sharp edge in it--one filled with anger and it took Sam a moment to realize that his rage was not placed towards him. “Did he do this to you?”

 

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but all that came from his lips was a soft whine--a silent plea for Dean to not ask him any more questions, but it was made apparent in the way that the features of his brother’s face turned rigid and cold, that he didn’t need to ask him another. Sam could see it in the hard lines of his eyes--Dean knew that John was the reason behind the bruises and swelling of Sam’s face and body.

 

“I’m going to kill the son of a bitch,” Dean seethed and he abruptly pulled away from his little brother.

 

Sam’s hands lashed out and gripped onto the denim of Dean’s legs, looking up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “Dean, please. Don’t.”

 

“Let go of me, Sammy.” snapped Dean and the harshness of his voice caused Sam to flinch away from him. “He’s gonna pay.”

 

The boy watched as Dean removed the pistol from the waistband of his jeans and cocked it once before he stormed out of the bathroom. Sam swore under his breath and he tried to stand as quickly as his body would let him, clinging to the sink for support. The sharp crackle of Dean’s pistol firing ricocheted in the small hotel room and the sound sent terrified chills through Sam’s body.

 

Stumbling out of the bathroom, Sam stopped abruptly when he saw his brother standing a few mere feet away from their father, his gun trained onto the older man. John sat on the bed, a bullet hole just a mere inch away from his leg from where he currently sat. His hands were raised, open palms turned toward Dean, but the brown in his eyes were cold and hazy.

 

“You’re not going to shoot me, boy,” John began, his tone low--daring.

 

“Don’t underestimate me, you son of a bitch,” seethed Dean. “I just didn’t want to ruin someone’s day by cleaning your brains off of the wall.”

 

John gave a single scoff and turned his eyes in Sam’s direction, causing the boy to look away, his body shaking from the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

 

“Hey!” Dean kicked the bed, pulling John’s attention away from his younger son and back towards his eldest. “Look at him again and I’ll kill you, understand me?”

 

John didn’t speak again. Dean took his father’s absence of speech as a form of understanding and he didn’t look at Sam as he said, “Get dressed and your stuff packed, Sammy. We’re leaving.”

 

Sam didn’t dare say anything else as he dressed as quickly as he could--throwing on a pair of Dean’s sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. He moved about the hotel room, gathering his belongings before joining back at Dean’s side. By the time Sam had returned, Dean already had the keys to the Impala in his hand and his duffel bag strung over his shoulder. 

 

“Let’s go, Sammy.”

 

“You’re making a big mistake, boys,” John said finally as the Winchester boys moved towards the front door of the hotel room.

 

“You already did,” replied Dean. “If I so much as catch a whiff of you or see you come after us, I’ll kill you and I won’t miss on purpose this time.”

 

The eldest Winchester slammed the door to the hotel room shut and took Sam’s duffel bag from him. Dean ushered Sam into the passenger seat of the Impala, quickly tossing the bags into the trunk. The Impala started with a deep, throaty growl and Dean wasted no time slamming her into reverse before peeling out of the parking lot. Sam turned around in his seat to catch sight of John standing in front of the hotel window.


End file.
